


Look Me Up If You Ever Get Topside

by kayliemalinza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Bela Talbot, Dreams, F/M, Guro, Hell, Necrophilia, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:06:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the first half of Season 6. Dean is visited in his dreams by one of Hell's prettiest demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Me Up If You Ever Get Topside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mondegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondegreen/gifts).



Dean wakes up and his hand has curled around his gun so tightly in the night that the safety pressed purple corrugations into his palm. Dean rubs his thumbpad against the hurt and wonders if one day, he's gonna shoot in his sleep. Shatter the bedside lamp. Shatter Sam's skull in the next bed over. 

"Hey, Sam, do you think demons can cause dreams, or is that just angels?" he asks later. He gets down half a bite of breakfast burrito. His hand hurts where the wrapper crumples against it.

"I dunno. Probably," says Sam, and doesn't notice when Dean stops eating.

* * *

"We never got to have that angry sex," she says.

Dean put the gun under the other pillow tonight and slept on his back. She circles a little on his cock, smirking, face fading in and out like things do in Hell. The firelight is almost romantic.

"Sorry, sweetheart," says Dean. "Look me up if you ever get topside." He doesn't mean that (he means that) who the fuck would say that (he said that) it makes sense for a certain kind of person (he had such promise.)

Bela's kneecap glistens as she rocks back and forth. The skin is raggedy like lace, with bursae plumping between the bones. Black specks crawl out from time to time. Dean doesn't mention it. He's a polite young man (when it's useful) who understands that bodies (corpses) do weird things and it's nothing to be embarrassed about.

"I'm not sure that would end up well for me," she says. "You have a track record with demons." 

"Aw, I'd make an exception for you," he says. He curls his hand around her wrist, grips tight, waits for it to slick and squirm. He bends it down just far enough to hear the slender radius and ulna grind together.

Bela pouts. She shakes her hair back over her shoulders. Round and dainty things, embellished with roseate scrapes, dotted here and there with pinprick scabs. 

"Would you, Dean?" she asks. "Would you let me talk to you?"

"Bring some of your fancy booze and it's a date," he says.

She grins. He wakes up.

* * *

"Dude, you have been jumpy all day," says Sam.

"No, I haven't," snaps Dean. "Well, maybe in comparison to you. Do you even blink?"

Sam looks at him. He doesn't blink. "Of course I do," he says. "But this job is a bust, Dean. You can relax. Nothing's going to jump out of the shadows at you."

 _No,_ thinks Dean. _She'll saunter._


End file.
